Corrupt Innocence
by NekoKittysmileyface
Summary: I always wanted to go to Neverland - Now I want to escape from it.


**Peter Pan - Corrupt Innocence**

The Prologue

_"Can you stay forever as a child, if the rest of the world world has already grown up?"_

* * *

_"We don't stop playing because we grow old;  
__we grow old because we stop playing."_

_- George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

"Okay Rhys, off to bed." I sighed contently, closing the old leather book, patting my little brother on the head as I made my way to walk out of the bedroom door.  
The 11 year old scowled at me, clearly not understanding the importance of sleep." But what happened to Cinderella?" Rhys whined, his doe-eyes not entirely interested, and not at all curious - he'd heard this story time and time again - in fact, I had a suspicion that the boy 3 years my inferior was using the story as an excuse to stay up, although a I knew he'd much rather be spending his time downstairs, on the couch, playing some mind numbing game or other on his X box.  
I put on a smirk for the pouting little brunette.  
Chuckling slightly, I replied "Enough Cinderella for one night, Little man! You've got school in the morning!" Carefully dodging the toys littered around the room, I put the book back onto the book shelf, showing him I was not going to give in that easily.

Rhys did not like this one bit. "I'm not a 'little man' ... I'm a grown up!" He whined, eyes showing clear impatience, before adding thoughtfully "And grownups stay up all night. It's only 10:30, Caitlin!" Arms folded, he let out a huff, stomping a little before making his way to the wooden book shelf, his intention clearly to bring the book out again.  
Now laughing, I pointed out "That's 2 and a half hours later than your normal bed time. You'll be tired in the morning. And you get cranky when you're tired."  
I silently noticed that he was always tired in the morning, because what my brother didn't know was that I fathomed that he sneaked out of bed most nights when he suspected I was asleep, playing video games. He didn't need to worry about my parents finding out - they were away frequently, at parties and pubs and whatnot. I, however, often seen the blare of the light coming from the living room, or heard the gunshots of black ops, when I went downstairs to get a glass of water or something of the sort.

Rhys gave me an iritated look, making me feel a pang of guilt. I had always been a push over where my little brother was concerned, and I could not stand the mere thought of the boy being mad with me. To my misfortune, that lead to him becoming more and more spoilt by the day, and he seemed increasingly content with playing the guilt card over me to get what he wanted.

"Can you at least tell me the story of Peter pan before you leave?" He pleaded, his last attempt and ploy to stay up, looking like butter wouldn't melt. Oh yes, he knew I loved that story.

I sighed a dramatic sigh , pretending that it was a hard decision to make, even though we both knew that Rhys had won. "Okay then, but you need to get to bed as soon as I've finished! Comprende?"  
My little brother nodded vigourously, satisfaction gleaming in his face, plopping down onto his beanbag chair.

I didn't need to get the leather fairytale book back out, for i'd memorised this story long ago, when I was even younger than Rhys; It was the story my grandma Jane would tell me time and time again, either not realising or simply not caring that she'd told the story thousands of times before. A story of a young boy who whisked her away to a faraway place made of childrens dreams, full of Fairys, Mermaids, Indians, and Pirates, to mother the lost boys he'd taken care of for god knows how long - the same way her mother had done a few decades before.  
Of course, I knew that my grandma was full of rubbish these days. She told me that he'd come for me too, one day. And I'd go on all these amazing adventures with him and the lost boys, doing 'wonderous things' and having 'awfully big adventures'.

Every time she told me this, I would humour her with all the right noises, adding a little nod in all the right places, but my thoughts would always be the same. _Gran and her silly stories.  
_ Of course it was crazy to even dwell upon the thought that a green-clad boy, with the ambition to stay young for all of eternity, would take me far, far away from here, second to the right and straight on until morning.  
That would be crazy. Proposterous even...

However, I mused that it'd be pretty amazing to go to Neverland, and never grow up. A true children's fantasy..

What was I thinking? I was 14 years old, well and truly past being a child. I mean, kids my age cussed, drank alcohol, and even _smoked.  
_And I _desperately_wanted to fit in with the kids my age. However, I rarely cussed, I'd turned down alcohol every time it was offered to me, and I turned my nose up at every 'joint' that was passed my way. I was often ridiculed by people at school for being a 'goody-two-shoes.' They could say what they very well liked, but I smiled secretly, knowing that they would end up just like my parents - partying into their late thirties, ending up as dead beats - I had time for partying when I was older, when it was morally just to do so.

Despite this, I did manage to stay away from being a social outcast, by acting grown-up - I convinced myself I didn't want to go play with the Indians, swim with mermaids, or even battle pirates like Captain Cook. I tried to act like I didn't want to _never_ grow up - and Of course I pretended I did NOT believe in fairies. Oh no, I was definitely not a child - I was 14, a _teenager, _almost an adult, I'd say.

Not that even _children_ imagined battling pirates, dancing with fairys, and swimming with mermaids these days anyway, come to think of it - it was 2012 for lords sake - in fact, Rhys prefers to play on his xbox downstairs. I was just glad he still liked to listen to my stories - or at least tolerated them- so I could still convince myself he hasn't grown up too fast, hadn't become too mature for my own liking at such a tender age.

Soon I realised the story I was telling had turned more into a ramble. Rhys looked at me and rolled his eyes, probably thinking that this wasn't worth staying up for tonight. "Maybe you should save the story for tomorrow night." His face held an expression of bordem, like he wasn't interested anymore. Something surged through my chest, because I knew this would be the look i'd be getting more and more often. Soon he'd grow out of these silly stories. I had started to suspect he was already doing so.  
He jumped off of his chair and walked over to his bed, hinting that I should get out of his room. I sighed inaudibly.  
It was only a few months ago where I could go up to my brothers room, read him a fairytale, and have him snuggle in my lap, eyes wide with excitement at the story unravelling - and I could pretend, in that moment, that I had a perfect family.  
I could forget that our parents were going to come back at a unpredicted hour, alcohol still practically floating at the back of their throats, and presumably, they would pass out swiftly after getting through the door.  
As long as I had my moment with my brother, I would be okay.  
However, small as this incident that night was, I knew this was signalling the crumbling of my relationship with my brother - His love of my stories was the only thing that had kept our bond strong - without it, what did we have?

Pushing down the icy, sinking feeling in my gut, I laughed shakily and nodded to him, before heading out of his door. Looking back tentatively, I saw him slide his hands under his pillow, rummaging for an object that was revealed to be his mobile phone. Swallowing, I hollered to him "Goodnight Rhys, Love you!" I waited for a second longer than needed, observing his fingers type furiously on the mobile.  
My heart stung a bit as I got no response. His love of stories was the only thing child-like about my little brother.  
I just didn't want him to grow up.

I walked to my room, slumping on my bed in defeat. This was it. Sighing, I thought that maybe, just maybe, Neverland wouldn't be so bad ... If it existed, of course. Children who acted their age would be nice for a change.  
I slipped out of my clothes quickly, shuddered at a slight chill, and slipped into my nightdress. It was a pale blue, flimsy little thing that had belonged to my great grandmother, Wendy Darling.  
Apparently it had always been to just slightly too big for her - from what i've seen from the photo's of my beautiful great grandmother, she had been around about the age of 12 more or less, at the time she wore it, and still had the body of a prepubescent; much shorter than myself, and less developed too.

Grandma Jane had altered it at the tailors before she'd handed it down to me, so instead of it coming down to my ankles, it fell comfortably at my mid thigh, as she said that the length of it would get in my way whilst scrambling through the undergrowth.  
I had asked her, bemused, why I would be outside getting dirty in my nightgown, of all things. '_ When you're in Neverland, Of course!' _She'd reply, with such an expression on her sweet withered face, and a particular gleam in her eye, like I should have known already. Ah, what a interesting character my Grandmother was.

I heaved myself off of my bed, about to close my open window, when I caught a sight of myself in my full legnth mirror. When my grandmother first saw me in her mothers Nightgown, she told me I looked nothing like Wendy, but just as beautiful, if not more so - I begged to differ, however.  
Wendy was certainly beautiful, as was Jane, from what I had saw from pictures.  
My mother looked as if she could have been beautiful like them, but decades of alcohol abuse and late nights, and lord knows what else, had deteriorated her looks - she looked ghastly, more so each and every day.  
She appeared rough on the edges, her hair was dyed bleach blonde, and was straw-like and lifeless. Her dreary brown eyes were framed by thin black lashes, clumped together with coats and coats of cheap brand mascara. It was apparent that her partying lifestyle had not done her well - more and more wrinkles seemed to show up on her foundation-caked face daily. I loathed her, as did my Grandmother.

As for me, My brown hair fell in loose curls around my face - brown was such a dull colour in a world where girls could die their hair all sorts of bright and vibrant colours. However, it was shiny, had body, and I was proud to say it looked miles better than my mothers.  
I had deep green eyes that I inherited from my father, only his eyes looked increasingly tired from lack of sleep, as you can probably gather, with him and my mother being out constantly.  
I guessed I considered myself tall for my age, at around 5 ft. 8 - I was never allowed to slouch, as ordered by My grandmother. She had raised me with manners, even if my parents didn't.  
I guessed my breasts were nicely sized, although I personally didn't think it mattered.

I decided there was too much pressure on me in the 21st Century, too be looking amazing every single minute of the god forsaken day, and to keep up with the latest trends.  
If I kept scrutinising myself because of every flaw and every imperfection of my body and personality, i'd surely go insane. After all, society judged us all on media standards enough already - And don't get me started on those gossiping popular girls at school discussing you behind your back, and the boys judging you on your breasts, how your bottom compared with all the other girls, and how good looking you were.  
It riled me up to no extent. We were only 14, for lords sake.

Neverland was starting to sound more and more appealing by the second - a place where everyone acted their age, a place where I didn't have to fit in with society. A place where I didn't have to pretend.  
I knew all my dwelling on it was in vain, though.  
I knew it was just one of grandma's silly stories.

A moment passed. Then another. I hesitated, before making my way to my window. Something rose in me, and instead of closing the window as I previously intended to do, I peeped my head out to look out into the inky night, dotted with twinkling stars. "Second star to the right, and straight on until morning.." I whispered, smiling a small, tired smile.

Tonight I'd keep my window open. Just in case.

* * *

**Well, what'dya Think? Reviews would be appreciated. I've always loved Peter Pan,**


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